


Breathe

by zarlish_dragons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Newborn Baby, high level of sass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarlish_dragons/pseuds/zarlish_dragons
Summary: As the guinea pigs for a new class at Hogwarts, the eighth years, including a better-then-ever golden trio and a panic- driven Malfoy, must take care of one month year old babies for that much time with their partner. But the hats seemingly ‘random’ partner assignments may not be as unplanned as the students think.OrThe Harry and Draco stupid dad fanfic no one asked for.





	1. Cooing Cabbages

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly gay relationships. Homophobic? Fuck off. Sorry if that's a little curt, but please, not here.
> 
> also i need baby name ideas please help

“This is unbelievable!” Ron fumed as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. “A month with that _snake?_ ”  
“This is outrageous!” Blaise yelled as he stomped down the stone steps that led to the dungeons. “A month with that _weasel?_ ”  
“I know,” Harry and Draco responded to their friends warily. Hermione and Pansy wisely ignored them, thinking of their own partners. 

Earlier that day, the eighth years had gone to their morning class together, because their grade was so small, expecting to be continuing their ongoing lesson of human transformations in Transfiguration. 

However, instead of walking into the usually decorated classroom, they instead walked into a room full of bright pinks and blues lining the edges of large diagrams and posters that plastered nearly every square inch of the surrounding walls. In the back of the room, on a small table, eight boxes were neatly laid out, each rattling slightly. Underneath the table, eight soft wicker baskets held several lumpy objects that were covered by fuzzy yellow blankets. The desks had also been vanished.

Harry began to get a very bad feeling.

“Good morning class,” Professor McGonagall began tartly, talking to the room at large, “we have a very long lesson today so listen closely for these next instructions,” she waited until her confused students had put their books away. 

“Now then, I need everyone to take out a piece of parchment and a quill. Your wand will not be necessary. All my hufflepuffs and slytherins up at the front of the room please. Come on now, we haven’t got all day!” she finished exasperatedly, sweeping behind her desk to retrieve what looked like a royal purple wizarding cap.

She offered each of the two house’s students a sealed piece of paper which she said contained the names of their project partners. _She was deliberately being careful not to specify the ‘project’_ , Harry thought.

“Well tell us what it is already!” someone at the back of the class yelled. It was a mark of the Professor’s obvious bad feeling about what she was about to tell them that she did not reprimand Seamus for being rude. She did grimace, however, but opened her mouth to explain regardless.

“Today we will be taking on a lesson that is used in some muggle secondary schools to see if we want to continue teaching it at Hogwarts. It is fairly straightforward, though quite demanding and even difficult at times.” Harry winced. The bad feeling he had earlier was starting to twist itself into complicated knots. “You will be given a babbling cabbage that will be charmed to act like a… baby. You,” she nodded at the students in the front of the room, “and whomever you have chosen, of course randomly, will be sharing a room together for a whole month, taking care of the baby together, learning how to be a parent. This month will invariably help if you choose ever to have your own children, or, already do.” at this she glared pointedly at a blushing Cho Chang, who everyone knew was expecting in a few weeks. 

“I need you all to-” her next sentence was lost, however, amidst the loud noises of disbelief of every student in the classroom, save for Hermione, Harry thought privately to himself. She looked rather pleased. A loud bang interrupted his thoughts, however, as the Professor tried to successfully achieve the attention of the room again.

“One last thing, pairings are final and cannot be changed. Because the pairings are random, there will be a few same-sex couples but you'll have to live with it. After you learn your partner, come to me so that I can record your names and assign you to a room. The instructions are on the board. This is a triple period so you should have plenty of time to finish the task. When you have finished, go to lunch then come back for the remainder of the day.” with those last cheerful words, she sat down heavily at her desk, changed into her feline animagus form, and promptly dozed off. 

Harry, meanwhile, watched the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins apprehensively open their slips of paper and gasp in disdain, smile thinly, or frown, before turning with tight expressions to their partner, locating them somewhere in the line or crowd of ravenclaws and gryffindors. He was so focused in watching the exchange, however, that he barely noticed when the room fell completely silent. 

A voice cleared its throat behind him. He slowly turned around. 

Oh, no.

<><><><><><><><>

Draco Malfoy couldn’t resist chuckling when he saw the saviour’s daft face turn around. The look upon it was priceless, a bit dazed and confused. 

But laughing, apparently, was the wrong thing to do. He saw other boy’s face flush with anger, and before Draco knew it, he was sprawled on the ground with an aching jaw. Jumping up angrily, he looked at Potter, a wave of anger and despise masking his earlier amusement, though it was mixed with something else, Draco puzzled. He filed that thought away under ‘look at it later when you’re not facing off with Potter’ and turned to look back at the now heaving Harry Potter.

“WHAT THE FUCK POTTER?!” Draco spat out. He knew he looked bad like this, his hair now tousled and falling around his face, but he didn’t fucking care. He was going to make Potter pay. He threw out his fist as if he was going to punch Potter, hoping he would fall for it. He did. The other boy began to deflect the fist, but with his attention on Draco’s clenched hand, he didn’t notice Draco’s foot quickly sweep his feet from under him. The scarred boy fell on his arse, now livid. 

But then, _but then_ , he began to laugh. _He began to fucking laugh._ He began to do what had gotten Draco in trouble in the first place. Harry stood up shakily, nearly tripping, but that only made him laugh harder. The whole thing was absurd. What was really the bloody cherry on top was Potter’s outstretched hand, as if he wanted Draco to shake it. Draco snorted and swatted the other boy’s hand. _Yeah right,_ he thought, cocking his eyebrow as Potter just laughed again and said thoughtfully: “People really haven’t changed. But you’re right. I think a hug would be better.” Draco didn’t even have time to tense before Potter was on him. 

<><><><><><><><>

Harry Potter had no idea what had come over him. One second he was punching the boy in the face, the next he was hugging him. His logic had some reason, he supposed, it took the edge off things, sort of. It was true that after that brief, barely second long hug they were both less indifferent towards each other, but Harry couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something significant had happened in that awkward, joking, spur-of-the-moment hug. He decided to ignore it. 

The task, the students soon learned after recovering from the shock of the whole Draco/Harry thing, was to visit each diagram and take detailed notes on how to do each activity, in order to adequately prepare themselves for their own ‘baby’.

By unspoken agreement, Malfoy took the left and back walls while Harry took the front and right. They both worked quickly, and in silence, though one particularly hairy moment in general nearly had Harry off his rocker. What scared him about it the most was that he didn’t know what he would have done if Malfoy hadn’t taken care of it.

Malfoy had accidently trod on Hannah Abbott's foot, which resulted in him being pushed extremely hard, which resulted in him being thrust unceremoniously into Harry’s back, which resulted in Harry saying, “miss me already?”, which resulted in Malfoy slapping Harry upside the head so hard he lost his glasses. Harry had sighed then, turning back to a particularly vicious poster about small things the couple could do to subtly brighten the family’s day, such as braiding your baby’s hair (long hair was not necessarily gendered), master the art of wrangling rubber duckies in the bath, and how to properly tickle the baby under the chin just so, while simultaneously flipping Malfoy off.

At last, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses to get the spots out of them, he heard a gruff, “Potter,” from behind him and turned warily around.

“What now?” 

Malfoy bristled. 

“I just wanted to sorry for putting you off your emotional rocker this morning. I know you aren’t very stable right now,” he stopped short when he saw Harry’s expression. “No! No, not like that, just… fucking hell Potter you don’t make this easy do you?” he sighed then, trying to formulate his thoughts. But before he could-

“Git,” Harry muttered darkly and grabbed his bag. “I’ll see you after lunch,” he spat. Then practically ran from the room, a twist of… what exactly? Screwing up his face.

<><><><><><><><>

Lunch was delicious, thank you very much. There was nothing quite as soothing as ham and cheese on rye, Draco thought sarcastically to himself. He was bored; he looked around, spotting Blaise angrily putting his books into his bag and sending a silent plea in him and Pansy’s  
direcion for them to join him. 

With a sigh at the idea of never finishing his dry sandwich, he grabbed his books and followed the two out of the hall. Out of his peripheral vision he vaguely registered Potter and his minions leaving as well. 

_Copycat,_ Draco thought childishly.

As Draco slumped backward into his bed, it hit him. It fucking hit him. 

_He was going to be sharing a room with Harry Fucking Potter for a fucking month. With a fucking baby. They might as well be bloody married!_ Draco thought hysterically, giggling once. He clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. _What was he doing?_

<><><><><><><><>

Harry sighed as he sank into his favorite armchair by the fire. He vaguely heard Ron and Hermione asking him something, so he just nodded yes to whatever they were on about, thinking sleepily it was probably something like bringing him hot chocolate or asking if he was okay. _That would be some comfort,_ he thought. Then he fell asleep. 

Some time later, he woke up. His first thought was what time is it? His second coherent thought was after having cast a tempus charm. _SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT,_ was the only thing running through his head as he yanked his bag off the ground and slung it over one shoulder. The brief charm had revealed that he only had three minutes into class. Three minutes to sprint to the Transfiguration department across the castle. As he ran, he briefly wondered why Ron and Hermione didn’t wake him, then decided that was an issue for another time. 

He was two minutes late.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, staring at him over her spectacles. He flushed, vaguely noticing the desks having returned, then looked around for a seat. He saw everyone sitting with their partners, so he sighed and dragged his feet towards a smirking Malfoy. 

_“As I was saying,”_ the professor continued with a pointed look towards Harry, “you will, on my command, select one person to go gather one of the wicker baskets while the other will gather one of the boxes atop the table.”

Everyone shuddered at that and immediately nominated their partners for the latter job, as no one wanted to get near the boxes, which were now emitting a sort of whistling and growling sound as they shook precariously. 

Professor Mcgonagall gave the word, and the whole class launched into arguments over which partner would get the odd cardboard box. 

Surprisingly, most of the hufflepuffs held their own; after the war they became increasingly more fearless and now didn’t take shit from anybody. Of course, all the slytherins won their argument, and of course, all the gryffindors lost theirs. All except one pair, that is. Harry was sure the system was rigged. Blaise had ended up with Ron, he and Draco, and, now, the straw that broke the hippogriff’s back, Hermione and Pansy. 

They were in having a livid conversation, Pansy looking about ready to start throwing hands. Hermione, although still exchanging fierce words refused to pull her wand or engage in violence of any sort. 

_“You get the box you filthy mudblood! YOU DESERVE AS MUCH!”_

“No.” Hermione said calmly. The whole class was watching now. Even McGonagall.

Pansy gaped, then drew herself to her full height. She pointed her wand at Hermione. “I. hate. _You._ ” 

Professor McGonagall decided she has had enough. She quickly over to Hermione and whispered something in her ear. Pansy watched the exchange through narrowed eyes and raised her wand higher. Hermione nodded. 

“Alright Pansy. You win.”

“I… what?”

“You _win_ ,” Hermione repeated, clearer this time. Professor McGonagall nodded and and turned away. 

“Alright class. You know what to do.” she nodded to the room. 

Once the room was silent again, she told everyone to place the box between them on the floor between the two sitting partners. Once this was done, she walked over to where Blaise and Ron were sitting on the floor and instructed them to put the basket aside and hold hands over the box. She spoke to the class at large and repeated the instructions. 

There was a few audible thumps as the heavy wicker baskets were set behind the pair and more than a few scorching glares as the partners took each other's hands. 

Harry glanced uncomfortably as he reached out a hand to grab Malfoy’s. Malfoy slowly turned to look at him. If looks could kill, Harry would have lost his title of The Boy Who Lived. Nevertheless, Malfoy reached out a slender hand with long graceful fingers and rather loosely grabbed Harry’s own strong and thickset left one. Harry’s tanned skin stood out rather abruptly against Malfoy’s pale, almost milky skin. _His skin was also quite… soft,_ Harry realized sullenly. 

<><><><><><><><>

By now the class had turned its attention back to Blaise and Weasley. The whole class held its breath as Weasley slowly reached out a visibly shaking hand and lifted off the lid of the box. He realized Potter was squeezing his hand rather tight. He turned around again and glared, although it was short-lived because Draco really wanted to see what was inside. Longbottom didn’t look concerned, Draco thought. Instead the boy had leaned over the box to look at its contents almost as if confirming what was inside. He nodded once then shut the lid. Curious, the other students did the same, upon seeing the relieved and slightly incredulous looks on Blaise and Weasley’s face. 

Draco turned back around. He was was slightly annoyed to learn Potter had already opened their box, but his curiosity won out. He leaned over the edge to see what was inside and saw a... cabbage. That was talking no less. 

_Of course._ He thought. McGonagall had said something about what was it? Babbling cabbages? Yes, that’s it. _That’s also why Longbottom didn’t seem concerned. Herbology was the only thing he was not a perfect dunce at,_ Draco remembered. Ah, well. So much for some fanged monster sent to kill them all. He sighed. 

The cabbage was rather leafy… and green… and… cabbage-y, Draco thought, using his vast powers of observation. Aside for the infantine sounds it was making (he heard Longbottom patiently explain to Millicent that they were about the age of a one month year old), he didn’t really see how they could be turned to babies. 

The class quieted again as Professor McGonagall raised her wand over the cabbage and instructed Blaise and Weasley to keep their hold on each other.

“Brace yourself, this may be a tad unpleasant,” she said firmly. “ _Duo corpus in spiritum puer,_ ” 

A blue light snaked around their hands, curling around their fingers and wiggling through the cracks in their palms. It gave a jerking motion once and curled around Blaise’s finger to flick it. I continued making their hands do odd, random movements, until suddenly it jumped into the box in one long blue strand, and stayed there. Nobody else could see what was happening but the two, who gasped childishly. 

Shakily, Blaise reached in and pulled out something gently. It was a very naked, very caramel-skinned, very auburn, very blue-eyed, very lightly-dusted-with-freckles… baby.

Weasley gasped; he moved to stand behind Blaise, who was cradling the baby in his arms, and put his hands on his shoulders. The whole class gasped too. The pair took that moment to remember themselves.

Weasley snatched away his hands as if burnt, and Blaise put the softly gurgling baby back into the box. 

“Is this a real baby?” he demanded to Professor McGonagall. 

“No,” she replied evenly. “However, starting tomorrow it will start acting exactly like one.”

“Tomorrow? Why not today?” Weasley asked, his brow scrunched up in confusion.

The professor pursed her lips before answering. “We want to go easy on you for tonight, but only tonight. Parenting is not an easy task.”

Blaise nodded. An uncomfortable look came over his face. “Why did I have that reaction with Weasley earlier? I felt like a proud parent. I felt real attachment to both of them in that moment.” He screwed his face up. “That was kind of bizarre.”

“Ah, yes. Those are natural emotions when one sees their newborn for the first time. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again; it was just the first instincts of the spell,” the old professor said, faintly smiling, almost in amusement at Blaise and Weasley’s painfully relieved expression.

She told them something incomprehensible, then began to briskly walk go to each pair, repeating the spell and smiling that faint smile when the couple immediately moved to be close to each other and then, realizing what they were doing, jumped away quickly. She also seemed to be, lest Malfoy’s ears deceive him, listening to the students’ bets on what the baby would look like and agreeing to certain suggestions. 

Draco sighed nonchalantly, careful not to portray the large amount of bracing he was doing to himself. He didn’t trust the spell’s… after effects.

<><><><><><><><>

Professor McGonagall finally came to their table, leaning in closer to them to say something. Draco knit his eyebrow in confusion. She hadn’t done that with any of the other pairs. Across the cabbage he saw Potter doing the same.

“Alright you two. I know for this project especially it will not be easy to be civil, but make an effort. Alright?” She waited until they nodded, however hesitantly and roll-eye-y and gestured to their hands. 

“Focus on your personality and spirit, whatever that means to you. Not what it means to someone else.” at this she looked at Draco. They both nodded again, and stared with apprehension toward the cooing cabbage. 

“ _Duo corpus in spiritum puer,_ ” Professor Mcgonagall said in a clear voice.

Draco instantly felt something peculiar curling around his hand; it was like another, warmer, hand was trying to control his. He watched as his pinky finger flicked Potter’s, his hand gently distengle itself from the other one and then reattach itself, and his pointer finger point accusingly at the floor. He gave a very un-Malfoy-esque snort, however, when the blue light flipped Potter the v-sign. He was surprised to hear McGonagall snort as well. Potter glared at them.

After a few more seconds of toying with their now entwined hands, the blue light jumped into the box as the two boy’s hands repeated the same action just as strongly, except away from each other’s.

They watched, entranced, as the blue light coiled around the now suspiciously silent cabbage and began to glow. The cabbage’s form grew into that of a baby human’s, and molded its features into small feet with even smaller toes, tiny, grubby hands and arms, and perfect little eyes with no iris color. In fact, none of the baby had color. It lay, a perfectly formed human, but sometime during its process it had bleached itself and remained that way. Even the hair, which was at nearly shoulder length, was whiter than Luna Lovegood’s or even Draco’s.

“Wha…?” Potter started, voicing the question Draco was wondering.

“Hush,” McGonagall scolded them, though she looked distinctly worried. 

They continued watching when, suddenly, the first color began to show. The three held their breath as everything happened at once. Suddenly the skin was a delicate cream, all of the limbs blushed to a slight pink, and the hair turned a brilliant dark red. 

But the eyes, those were the best. They were the color of molten moonlight, a liquid silver that changed hues every second. They were Draco’s eyes.

Draco, though he felt as if he shouldn’t, reached out into the box and oh-so-gently extracted the tiny, delicate, child. He cradled her in his arms, supporting the slightly lolling head and gazing into her wide, perfect, innocent eyes. He felt Harry’s hands on his shoulders, and felt, rather than heard the class’s and McGonagall’s gasp of astonishment at his endearing behaviour. He found he didn’t give a farting fudgesicle.

He couldn’t help it; he smiled.


	2. The five N's of Parenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With five weird actions that all start with the letter 'N' and a homey but ethereal house, Harry feels a little overwhelmed. Not to mention Draco, who for some reason has been growing closer to their baby then any other couple partner yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my very best to come up with believable words that started with N I'm literally hopeless. Please enjoy, I was fighting some writer's block but I'm OK with how it turned out. Looooooove the house. Is that weird?

A throat cleared rather loud. He looked up to see Blaise smirking at him. He didn’t blush. Malfoys didn’t blush. He simply gave a glare to wither flowers and gently placed the baby back into the box.

Potter still had his hands on his shoulders. Draco turned around and rose a singular eyebrow. Potter cleared his throat and removed his hands as if burnt. _Thank the fucking gods._

“Mr. Malfoy, refrain from using such foul language please,” McGonagall informed them, _oh shit had he said that aloud?_ , already heading to the next pair. 

The silence was thicker than Potter’s biceps. Which, Draco realized, were quite large and defined. He scowled and looked away. Potter shifted awkwardly. “So… “ his attempt at conversation was short-lived, however. 

They had been the second to last couple and now that Boot and Patil (he couldn’t remember which one) had gone, the professor was talking again. 

“Now that we have that done, one of you will need to hold the child while explain the next part. I think the person who won the argument from before should take the child, just to be fair,” she gave a small smile as Pansy turned her incredulous face towards Hermione. “The spell we have just used is quite complex, and there are five other actions that we must do to complete the spell. Mr. Malfoy, may I ask why she is not currently in your arms? I believe I told you to hold the child.”

Draco scowled again but lifted the tiny baby out again and cradled her gently in his arms. She really was quite cute, he realized sullenly.

“The five actions are naming, nursing, nurturing, nourishing, and napping. Otherwise known as the five N's of parenting.

“We'll start with naming. This one is pretty self explanatory. Naming is something we do to nearly all children and the ones we pick define our relationship with our partner and child. You are free to give any name, as long as it _is_ a name.

“That is simply your assignment for the next half hour, and believe me, some of you are going to really want to name your baby appropriately.”

It might have just been her general eye contact making, but Draco swore she looked at him and Harry for that last part. He also couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow connected to the odd color occurence earlier. He shook his head. He had some naming to do.

<><><><><><><><>

Harry looked over at Malfoy beneath his bangs. He had an idea for a name but was hesitating. The name meant a lot to him and he was excited to share, but he was s little, alright, a lot, worried that Malfoy would just shoot it down. But it was now or never.

“I have an idea for a name,” he said slowly. Malfoy looked at him sharply, tearing his eyes away from the little girl in his arms.

“And what, exactly, would that be?” he crawled, clearly unimpressed.

“Ella,” he blurted out before he considered the possible consequences.

“Oh? And what does it mean?”

“Mean?” Harry asked, bewildered. As a matter of fact, he did know what it meant, but was understandably surprised by the question nonetheless.

“Oh, well it means beautiful fairy.” He blushed knowing it was sort of silly to show such sentiment in front of Malfoy. Dangerous, even.

To his surprise, Malfoy pulled out his wand. He gave a sharp flick and muttered the name under his breath. He seemed equal parts surprised and not surprised when his wand gave a violent shudder in his hand and dark violet sparks shot out of the end of it. He nodded.

“I guess that could work,” Malfoy said slowly, ignoring Harry's expression of disbelief and surprise. “For purebloods there is a list of fifty million names that are acceptable. Ella is one of them.”

“Was the spell for confirmation?” Harry wondered aloud.

“Yes. Now, as long as I get to pick the middle name without question, I have no problem with Ella.”

“Deal,” amended Harry, beyond relieved that Malfoy didn't immediately shoot down his idea. “Er, out of curiosity, what's your name idea?”

“Adaline,” Malfoy said, a sudden mask of indifference settling on his face. Harry made a mental note to ask him about it later. “It means a noble and kind-hearted person. Everything I wanted to be,” he whispered the last part to himself, so faint he thought no one else had heard. Apparently, he was wrong.

<><><><><><><><>

Draco barely caught McGonagall's next words. It was his own fault, he scolded himself. He was getting distracted too easily. He turned his face into a mask of polite indifference and turned towards the talking professor. 

“-second N,” she was saying, “is nursing. Now for you of the male gender, this will be rather um, difficult for you. Also, since the females’ bodies have not had this baby on their own, they have no milk to provide anyways. To compensate for this loss, we will give you all formula and bottles.”

She paused to wait for the snickers to subside. “This next part is meant to make this experience as real as possible, for BOTH genders.”

Any humour that was in the air suddenly vanished, to be be replaced by a vague feeling of fear. 

“Relax; we won’t give you a potion or anything to make you lactate. You will simply be using bottles. However, to make this as real as possible, you must cover yourself up with a blanket when you are feeding the baby at all times unless it is just the two of you, otherwise you will face...repercussions.”

The room fell silent. Weasley broke it: “What kind of ‘repercussions’?”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “It will… give you a chance to really experience all parts of parenthood,” she said carefully. “I promise it will not be as bad as you are envisioning.”

Several students shook their heads, mystified. They were beyond comprehensible emotion.

“Right then,” the professor said uncomfortably, “let us move on to the next N,” she took a breath to steady herself and visibly calmed down.

“The witch who created this spell made the unfortunate decision to try to make all of these actions start with ‘N’. This next one refers to how you will raise your child this coming month. The word is ‘nurturing’. For our purposes we will be choosing a task out of the hat that you must do daily. 

“Mr. Thomas, please take this hat and have each couple pull on slip.”

Draco looked at the loosely folded piece of paper in Potter’s hand. 

“Well, what does it say?” he grumped. His arm was beginning to get numb from holding Ella for so long. He subtly shifted positions as Potter read the slip aloud: “‘read to the child every day, textbooks will not do but singing is allowed,’” he finished, looking over at Draco through his rounded glasses.

“What’d you reckon?” he asked.

“Cheers,” Draco said warily, “we’ll just take turns I guess.”

An awkward silence filled the air between them. Harry cleared his throat and watched the other pairs around them reading their small pieces of paper skeptically. He gave an uncontrolled snort when he looked over at Hermione and Pansy. Apparently their slip had something to do with tickling, as Hermione, bless the girl, was attacking the task with great enthusiasm. Their baby was squealing happily in Pansy’s arms who looked almost, dare he say it?, _affectionate?_ Of course, as soon as she noticed the stares her scowl was back in full force and her shoulders visibly tensed.

Harry risked another glance at the boy across from him, and felt his breath hitch involuntarily. The blonde boy was sitting cross-legged, balancing Ella on one hip while the other was tilted slightly so he didn’t lose his balance. His hair fell in soft tufts all over his head, immaculate hairstyle be damned. He scowled haughtily, and though his expression lacked its usual bite, it managed to make Harry feel subordinate. In essence, he was fucking beautiful. 

Harry looked away and swore softly under his breath. Damn. if he didn’t get his act together he would do something he really regretted, like trying to _*shudder*_ become friends with him. 

Malfoy saw Harry looking at him; “What do you want, Scarhead?” he snapped. _Shit._ Harry was spared the answer, however, by the Professor once again. 

“Now that you all have your own tasks, we will commence the fourth N. Nourishing. This one is simple. Basically, you will have to take turns feeding the child. Since, obviously, you all know how to give a baby a bottle, it would do little to dwell on this. Therefore, we will not.

“The fifth ‘N’,” she continued, “is napping. This is the most, _difficult,_ for some of you, but must be done. We will translate napping as sleeping. Starting tonight, couples sleep in the same bed, but- BUT,” she practically yelled as roars of outrage erupted, “this is temporary and there will be a partition.”

“As long as the child is somehow next to one of you and you alternate partners, the baby should be fine. Also, you really only need to do this for the first week. After that the beds will seperate, the partition will stay, and you may use the wicker basket and blankets provided to make a makeshift cradle.

“Does everyone understand?” McGonagall waited until everyone nodded before speaking again. 

“The last half hour of the class will be used for asking questions, fraternizing, or doing homework. When dinner ends come back to get your dorm location.”

The class nodded again and Harry looked over at Malfoy. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a break then,” he said, gesturing towards a calm Ella, for the moment. Malfoy nodded greatly and her over carefully.

“Good god,” he drawled, “my arm has fallen completely asleep.” He stretched said arm above his head and Harry swallowed and looked away when the barest sliver of milky skin was exposed.

Malfoy walked away with a last glance at Ella and joined his Slytherin friends. As Harry had suspected, Blaise and Pansy had also left the baby with their parent partners. 

Balancing Ella carefully as he heaved himself up with one hand, he joined a dejected-looking Ron and an overly-excited Hermione. 

Without bothering to say hello, Ron took a look at the babies in Harry and Hermione’s arms. Curious as well, Harry and Hermione looked at each other’s children as well. They were all rather cute, noted Harry. Hermione and Pansy’s child had, thankfully, Hermione’s facial structure and wild curls, although they were the dark black that inhabited Pansy’s own head. The boy’s skin was pale, though not nearly as pale as Malfoy’s skin. Harry froze. Where had that thought come from? For not the first time that day, he shook himself mentally and told himself (quite firmly!) to stop thinking about bloody Malfoy.

He thought his own advice was brilliant sometimes. 

Ron’s baby had dark skin and… “Color- changing hair?!” Harry asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Ron grinned. “McGonagall reckons he’s a metamorphmagus!” Harry felt his eyebrows attempt to shoot off his face. 

“Wow,” he finally said. “That’s pretty cool!”

“I know right? ‘Mione’s going to research for me,” he said as Hermione beamed at the prospect of going to the library in the near future.

Harry nodded absently, puzzling over this new development. He sighed. This day was beginning to add up to a little more than he thought he could handle. Which was saying something.

“It’s alright Harry,” Hermione said soothingly. “We all have our own nasty partners and I’m sure if muggles our age can handle this so can we.”

Harry smiled at her comforting words but was not sure whether comparing an evil lord to raising a baby was a fair one. From what he had heard and experienced, they were both their own kind of perfect storm.

They spent the next few minutes talking idly about anything that came to mind and by the time class had finished, Ella, Jax, and Ethan, the three newly christened children, had fallen asleep and Harry was feeling loads better.

After Mcgonagall assured them the babies would sleep the hour they were gone, they bolted out of the classroom and nearly ran down the hallways to the banquet hall. They weren’t the only ones trying to eat away the events of the day.

Nearly every eighth year could be seen stuffing their faces with that evening’s shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes, and greens. For dessert, Harry had two helpings of his favourite treacle tart.

<><><><><><><><>

When at last Mcgonagall, who had become headmaster in lieu of Dumbledore's death, called for the plates to be cleared away, every eighth year in the hall was for once not feeling sleepy and sated after their hearty meal. Indeed, an ominous feeling had wormed its way into Harry’s heart, and, if Ron and Hermione’s expressions were anything to go by, they felt it too.

Miserably tracking the younger years’ heads disappear around the corner of the Great Hall, Harry slumped into his seat and sent a defeated look across the hall to where he knew Malfoy sat. To his surprise, Malfoy returned the look. 

It seemed all too soon that Professor McGonagall was standing, daintily wiping the last of the invisible crumbs at the edge of her mouth. She smiled at the gathered 18 students before her and cheerfully led the way to the transfiguration department.

Once they were back into the classroom, the students were greeted by the nine babies sleeping peacefully on the floor.

“They are sedated right now, but the potion will wear off in the morning,” McGonagall said, addressing the students, please collect your belongings and follow me to your temporary dorms.”

Cheerful chatter overtook the room as the pairs moved to ‘collect their belongings’. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy went immediately to Ella, leaving the wicker basket for Harry. 

Seeing Harry’s questioning gaze towards the sleeping bundle in his arms, Malfoy, _almost hurriedly, as if it wasn’t true,_ Harry thought, hastened to say that the basket looked heavy and he didn’t want to ‘throw out his back’. All with a perfectly schooled sneer on his face, of course. 

Harry believed him.

<><><><><><><><>

Curiously, the mumble of chatter seemed to become louder and more hurried the closer they got to the East Wing, where McGonagall had said the dorms were. Draco supposed this was the equivalent of trying to strike up a conversation when nervous or anxious. Not quite right; too loud and trying too hard. 

With that knowledge rebounding back and reminding him that he probably sounded the same, Draco promptly closed his conversation with Pansy and instead half-listened to one between Longbottom and Millicent, who seemed delighted in Longbottom’s weird plant fetish, and absently stroking Ella’s soft red hair that lay curled between the crook of his sleeved left elbow and her own tiny head.

They soon reach a wall that seems to indicate a dead end. Several students slow, confused, and some actually stop. Draco, choosing to follow the latter, quietly disengages himself from the mini-mob-that-talks-too-loud and leans against the banister of a staircase to his right, carefully adjusting the smol boi in his arms.

He watches as McGonagall nods to Granger, who seems to be closest to the wall now. The Gryffindor adjusted the baby in her arms and knocked once on the wall with a closed fist, angling her wand away from the wall, and then once with her wand. 

Draco stiffened in surprise when a neatly polished door made of copper appeared. There must have been a lightening charm on the door because when Granger put her hand on the worn wooden doorknob (Draco frowned), the door swung inwardly quite easily. 

Forgetting himself, Draco leaned in to see what was beyond the strange door just like the rest of the class. It was a hallway. Disappointed, Draco tucked his head back against the cool upper banister. 

“Alright class,” he heard McGonagall say in a clear voice, “I need you all to listen,” she began, pausing for the chatter to stop, “these dorms were built as housing units for teachers. They are charmed to adjust in size, color, and shape according to necessity. The project was forgotten, however, and they made new units for the staff. Despite this, the rooms continued growing by themselves. We have assigned one to each of you and have no idea what they will look like. While these rooms may not provide objects, they can and will provide decor and specific pieces of furniture. You also may choose your method of entry be it a passcode like Slytherins and Gryffindors, question like Ravenclaws, or a ‘tapcode’ like Hufflepuffs. The doors are as follows: the worn mahogany door with an ornate silver handle are for Mr.’s Weasley and Zabini.” 

A lantern lit upon the door, illuminating the previously dark pathway. McGonagall went on, naming odd door and doorknob combinations as each pair was called. A lantern lit up above the frame appearing out of nowhere, also different in style, when each couple was called, as if to show the way easier. Another peculiar thing Draco noticed were the hushed conversations that each pair seemed to be having with the door. A few mumbled something and were whisked away inside, but others seemed to be debating, although with minimal heat.

When at last Draco and Potter were called, they were directed to a dark green door made entirely out of ivy. They both stopped for a moment in awe, eventually glancing upwards at the lantern above. It was lower than the other doors’ and was a small candle lit one that hung on a plain iron hook, easily accessible. Almost as if it wanted to be sneaked about with, Draco mused.

He heard Potter let out a strangled noise of delight beside him and Draco turned to frown at him. 

“What?” he demanded. The Gryffindor pointed to his crotch. Draco flushed. What…? He looked down and felt himself flush again, this time in embarrassment rather than confusion. The doorknob was about at that height, and was obviously what Potter had been referring to it was a slightly larger than life replica of a golden snitch. Draco let out a tiny “Oh!” of surprise. Then recovered himself, obviously.

As he was just thinking it would be ideal if it were a little further up… the sneaky little bastard moved easily, parting the ivy which immediately grew back in its wake. 

Draco was beginning to think a room this clever did the little _knob_ stunt on purpose. 

<><><><><><><><>

“Hello!” a cheerful voice in an american accent asked. They both jumped to abnormal heights. Malfoy cursed and held Ella protectively. He saw Potter had his wand out. Good. “Are you guys going to live here?” the voice continued. “Oh, silly me! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Alice, and I’m here as a sort of guardian for your room. Right now I just need your method of entering the room be it a-”

“Passcode, question, or tapcode, we know,” answered Draco warily, realizing this was the source of talk and debate with the doors earlier. Alice didn’t skip a beat. 

“Right then,” she said, suddenly business-like. “What shall it be?”

“Erm,” Draco looked at Potter. The latter shrugged. “Question?” Draco nodded.

“Which style?” Alice retorted. 

“Um, what?” Potter asked.

“Trivial, riddle-like, or contemplative?” Alice asked patiently.

Potter looked lost. “All three, alternating,” Draco finally said, taking a leap.

“Alrighty then, for first-time purposes I’ll give you an easy one. What comes first: the phoenix or the flame?”

Draco opened his mouth to answer brilliantly that they didn’t know, but was interrupted.

“A circle has no end,” Potter said firmly beside him.

“Right you are!” Alice sang and at last, the door swung open.

<><><><><><><><>

For all the bells and whistles on the outside, Harry had no idea what to expect. He then thought that anything he would have thought of would have been nothing like _this._

The inside of the dorm was made of a weathered wood that Harry knew for all its roughness wouldn’t leave splinters.The light was cast by small colonies of fairies who silently darted around hanging houseplants. The room they had entered into was quite small, with a fireplace, an extremely comfortable looking armchair, and a squashy couch all crammed in together. A tiny bag of floo powder hung on the wall next to a plain metal poker.

Harry hefted the basket again and followed Malfoy into the next room. This one was even smaller, only containing a worn wooden table and more fairy light plants.

This room, however, split off into two rooms, with no doors for either. One was a kitchen, with several cupboards, a stove, a sink, an oven, a small icebox and freezer, and, quite out of place, a shiny microwave that Malfoy was staring at in great confusion. Harry stifled the urge to laugh and led himself to the bedroom. 

Here,instead of the usual woods, the walls were painted with various hues of green and black and yellow in a pattern that should have looked like a child threw paint at the wall, but for all the world looked like sunlight dappling through the trees. 

The large bed was pushed into the corner, with a green silk partition down the middle. The bedsheets were the rusty color of the forest floor. A carpet was a light green and soft. There was also a large chestnut dresser and cloth hamper. The outline of a small pull-out cupboard was set into the wall, blending in almost perfectly except for the tiny snitch knob. To his right, Harry found the first door. Dumping the basket unceremoniously on the bed, he went to have a look. 

The loo held a toilet, sink, mirror, shower and tub, and some lower cupboards for storage and toiletries. There was also a flower pot that held a crimson and green toothbrush as well as Marvelous Magical Mint!™ toothpaste. A soft carpet covered the floor in a dark gray and the walls were back to wood. The sink was a stone basin.

Harry felt a smile on his face. He walked back into the living room and found Malfoy standing next to the dresser, unpacking his trunk the house elves had brought. Ella was still asleep and wrapped in the soft yellow blanket from the basket. Neither boy had energy to talk or even snipe.

Harry, after digging through his trunk, found his pajamas and walked to the loo to don them. He brushed his teeth and when he came out, he nodded for Malfoy, who had finished packing, to do the same. When the other boy disappeared, Harry began unpacking himself and walked around the edge of the bed to get to the other side of the partition. He lay awake for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the tap gushing, then the soft pad of naked feet across the carpeted floor. 

He felt the bed groan as another human’s weight was suddenly added, then even out again. 

He questioned why he had seemed to automatically come to this side of the bed. 

_It’s because Malfoy claimed the other side, his brain told him._

_Yes, but what did he use to claim it? Only Ella was there._

_Yes, and you knew he would have wanted to sleep with her tonight._

_But how do I know he wasn’t just offering her up?_

_You just did._

And he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was right. It turned out that Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy inheritance, former death eater, and insufferable twit, found comfort in a practically newborn little baby girl.

Why did he care? 

He didn’t even want to try to discover why.

He wasn’t ready for where that train of thought might take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the kudos! It's kind of on the weird side, but I'm quickly growing attached to this fic. Hope you liked it! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are always appreciated! 
> 
> PS: sorry for the frequent breaks, I just felt like it


	3. A blown-up first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first day of the project and already Harry has the baby forced on him for the whole day, Ella has several screaming fits, and Draco has an anxiety attack. Cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE OH MY GOODNESS THE MONTH IS HEREEEEEEEEEE. also lol sorry for the awful chapter the next will be more interesting. I hope.

Harry woke to the sound of screaming.

He groaned and flipped over onto his back, his arm, still asleep after having been slept on, flopping feebly at his side. 

Pushing himself up with one elbow, he groped around on the small wooden table next to his bed and grabbed his glasses. 

Shoving them onto his face, he propped himself up on one elbow and swept the partition aside. He was met with the sight of Malfoy, hair unruly, pyjamas still donned, holding a screaming Ella in his arms and looking at Harry helplessly.

Feeling himself grin slightly at the sight, Harry decided that it was time to get out of this man’s line of sight before he did anything he truly regretted. Recalling that babies, when they cried, usually just needed a bottle or a dummy, he dragged himself out of bed, allowing himself to feel calm for one second as the soft shag of the carpet soothed his freezing feet before sighing and fairly launching himself towards the direction of the wicker in the corner. 

Digging through it, he threw aside a pamphlet for How to Turn Your Wicker Basket into a Makeshift Cot and tossed aside numerous nappies before finally getting to a small tub of baby formula and several bottles. Balancing a bottle and the box of formula on his arm precariously, he poked his head around the corner and gave a now almost completely given up Malfoy a thumbs up, which was promptly returned by a glare. 

At least he didn’t get the v- sign. 

Huffing down onto the bed, ignoring how his thigh banged against Malfoy’s, he pulled the paper instructions off the lid of box and skimmed it before putting them aside. He filled the bottle up nearly all the way with water and warmed it, both actions with his wand. The instructions said that adding as much magic as possible to the baby’s early life was important. 

Seeing that the bottle was full of about six ounces, he added three scoops and shook it lightly. He held it out to Malfoy and they both held their breath as he held it to a screaming Ella. To their great relief, she took it and quieted down.

Harry suddenly the close proximity they were at. He scooted away quickly, clearing his throat. He glanced quickly back at Malfoy and discovered that he was paying him no mind, instead staring at Ella with a bemused expression. Harry could practically hear the wheels ticking away in him mind, wondering just what on earth made this tiny transfigured cabbage tick.

Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of annoyance, that Malfoy was spending more time with Ella with him. He told the wave to shut up. And it did, at least for the time being. Ah, well.

<><><><><><><><>

Draco sat down in his seat in potions with his usual grace. He was damned if he let his rather abrupt morning start to show.

Catching Potter’s eyes across the room, he let a smirk flit across his features with a wink. As soon as he turned away, however, he regretted it. That _had_ been pretty pretentious and plus, he would probably regret it later when he had to take Ella.

Shamed at himself, he avoided Potter for the rest of the lesson. Arithmancy was next and he hurried through the corridors to get to class, purposefully avoiding Pansy and Blaise’s advancements, with Goyle hurrying behind them.

That day they were taking a break from wizarding math and how it tied into magic and instead were focusing on muggles’ insane ideas for something they called ‘algebra’. It was absolute rubbish and made no sense. Why in the world would somebody twist numbers in those ways by hand when now they had magic and something Professor Vector called ‘calculators’? And to think, muggle _children_ did this.

Draco glared at his parchment, filled with scribbles upon scribbles of numbers and cross-outs. This unit had gone on for a month now, two whole fortnights filled with hair-pulling maths that was barely relevant to the actual world. They were only completing the first algebra ( _thank god for that_ ), and they had finally progressed to something called quadratics. 

He had been trying to figure out how to simplify the equation 7200=x(x+60), but Could. Not. Figure. It. Out. He finally actually growled when his fifth attempt went awry.

“Need help?” a voice behind him asked. He whirled around, nearly putting a crick in his neck, to find Hermione Granger leaning casually back on her stool, _on its back legs_ , raising her eyebrows at him. 

Draco was suddenly struck by the change the war had on her. She was no longer so rule-abiding, now more loose, relaxed. 

He scowled at her, but didn’t say anything. If he got the wrong answer one more time he was going to hex someone. He continued scowling but nodded minutely. 

She smirked, and fell forward in her chair with a loud thump. She gestured to the problem. “How far have you gotten?”

Draco showed her the farthest he had gone, the first step. He had finally simplified it to 7200=x2+60x.

“Do you remember how to even out a quadratic if it’s not factorable?”

Oh. Draco had forgotten about that. He had it now. 

He nodded and took back the paper. But he was filled with that new sort of shame again. He turned around again, slowly, and croaked out a “thank you.”

“Cheers,” she mumbled, not looking up from her own math.

‘What the fuck just happened’ was Draco’s last thought before losing himself to maths once more.

<><><><><><><><>

How Harry made it to class on time was a great mystery. His lateness probably had to do with Malfoy shoving Ella in his face and saying curtly: “Your turn to have the runt.”

Harry had half a mind to answer back that he certainly didn’t mind spending time with the ‘runt’ when he slept with it last night, but restrained, albeit just barely.

They both got ready then, taking turns in the bathroom and skipping breakfast. Harry had the added obstacle of Ella, who was absolutely opposed to being put down, no matter how far either man was.   
At last, juggling a pink-faced baby on one hip and balancing his book bag on the other, Harry irritably pulled open the door and ignored Alice’s calls of good morning and the day’s weather forecast. Cloudy, without a doubt, said Harry’s inner self. And what a pessimist it was. 

The clock ticked into place just as Harry settled into his seat, ignoring the questioning glances from his friends and setting Ella in the wicker. He feigned nonchalance as Slughorn walked in, only sinking in his seat when his back was turned. Looking around the room briefly, he caught Malfoy’s gaze, which promptly smirked at him and winked.

The bastard.

Potions, to Harry’s relief, was easy, simply note-taking, although rather boring. Halfway through the class Ella fell asleep, to Harry’s enormous surprise and relief. He looked over at Hermione who gave him a small smile and gestured helplessly at her own bundle, who was very much awake and looking closer and closer to crying.

Harry puffed up his chest a little. Maybe he could be good at this.

Of course, being a Potter, luck was not really a given. The turn of day came in the flurry that was lunch.

Ella had woken up an hour earlier and had settled for staring at people as they passed, but decided enough was enough and chose the moment Harry was biting into his shepard’s pie to let out an ear-splitting screech and, well, shit herself.

Turning a level of puce that Uncle Vernon would be proud of, Harry swallowed his bite with difficulty and glared at Seamus and Ron, who seemed most intent on taking the mickey. Huffing to himself he hurried off, not bothering with his stuff, only Ella and the bag with her things in it.

It was only now that Harry realized he had no place to resolve this, um, issue. He could try for the bathrooms, he supposed, but there weren’t any flat surfaces and they were too far anyway. The closest room was the library, but Harry knew Madam Pince was likely to ban him from there forever if he pursued that option.

This significantly narrowed it down, but to what? Ella’s cries were getting increasingly louder and shriller in volume as he contemplated, and he was beginning to fear leaking. So he dove into the nearest classroom and prayed it was unused. It was.

Breathing a sigh of relief that he immediately regretted (the inhalation gave him a whiff of Ella’s package), he set down the bag quickly and pulled a large piece of cloth out. It was tricky business, changing Ella, but a lot of frustration and cursing later, Harry got it. 

But one problem remained. The screaming. Harry was pretty sure he was screaming at this point too. Honestly, what was with these abominations?

He mentally checked off things he could do (read: attempt) in his head.

Change nappy? Check.

Hold her or cradle her? Cheers.

Bottle? … oh. 

Resisting the urge to bang his head on a table, he quickly made a bottle for her and sighed with relief when she quieted, ignoring the crushing sense of deja vu that followed.

About ten minutes was left of lunch when he arrived, so he tucked the bag and Ella away, pleased to find her asleep after the milk. He resisted the insane urge to smile as he turned away.

“Throws quite a fit, doesn’t she? Eh, Harry?” Seamus chuckled, nudging one of Harry’s shoulders.

“She does indeed,” he answered back easily, refusing the bait. Harry assumed the cabbage baby was with Parvati, but he knew soon enough Seamus would find out just what kind of fuss they made.

“What did she need?” Hermione asked, ignoring the boys. 

Harry looked at her. And contemplated the question before taking a bite.

“Why d’you ask?” he mumbled around a mouthful of long-awaited shepherd's pie.

Hermione shrugged. “They can sometimes be indecisive. Sometimes a bottle, sometimes a carry, sometimes sleep, sometimes a diaper change, sometimes a specific person,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Also, might I suggest giving Ella to Malfoy? I know he may not want her, but if you two are going to be spending lots of time in such close proximity you really need to share.”

Harry snorted. Share with Malfoy? Then again, they were being forced into a lot of that lately. Plus, cute as she was, Ella really was a pain. But when to make the switch? He couldn’t bloody well get up now and waltz over to the Slytherin table could he? He might as well sit in Malfoy’s lap at the same time, why doesn’t he.

He snorted too hard and choked on his lunch. Ron thumped him on the back.

“You really shouldn’t be daydreaming about Malfoy this much, mate,” he chuckled.

Harry choked again.

<><><><><><><><>

It was halfway through herbology that Ella had another fit. But she wasn’t the only one. The other babies had had periodic episodes throughout the days too. To the great amusement of the younger years, various eighth years would dash out of their classes with a wailing baby, the sound trailing them through the halls as they desperately, like Harry, searched an empty classroom.

To no one’s surprise, none of the Slytherins had children with them, instead choosing to leave their ‘children’ with their other housed counterparts. 

Malfoy didn’t feel guilty, exactly, because he knew all tomorrow he would probably be stuck with the runt, which he had affectionately taken to calling it. But what he hadn’t expected, not at all, was the small aching feeling that had taken root in his mind, not at all pleasant.

He didn’t know what emotion it was, and he really didn’t like how it made him feel, but it was easy to ignore. He also was scared of further contemplation, lest he find out something about his emotions that he really shouldn’t. 

So he shoved it into the back of him mind, to a dark and dusty place filled with cobwebs and old emotions he had done the same too. The hurt he had felt whenever his father had struck him as a boy, the crumbling despair he had so carefully hidden when Harry Potter had rejected his hand so many moons ago, the crushing love he had for his mother that made him want to be just like her, but knew that those thoughts were girlish and wrong, and so many more. 

They were safe back there, and unlikely to come back soon. So he let it rest.

But now the task at hand. It was supper now, and he was consciously keeping himself from looking across the hall and glaring at Potter. He knew the great brute would most likely get mad and the last thing he needed was to be sharing a board with a flurried Potter. 

So he distracted himself with pouring marmalade over toast, ignoring the weird looks he was getting for eating breakfast foods at dinner. Well, fuck them. It was his toast. 

Over on his right, some Slytherins were having an animated conversation about football, which Draco had no interest in, whatsoever. What was so special about kicking around a ball while you and your friends’ mums cheer for you? Actually, how do you even play it?

_It’s not really a proper english sport,_ Draco sniffed, to give himself something to do. He blew noisily through his nose, finally huffing and swinging a leg over the bench and getting up from the table. Blaise looked up at his departure, but Draco waved his hand dismissively and Blaise went back to his food with a shrug.

Walking along the empty corridors, Draco let himself relax for the first time in… months, he know realized, and lightly ran a hand along the walls, just… breathing.

In and out, in and out. In and out, in and out. His breath fogged faintly as he got closer and closer to the dungeons, still trailing a hand on the rough stone sides. 

His mind felt curiously blank; there were so many thoughts swirling around he couldn’t help but remember when he was little and had gone outside in the snow without gloves by accident. He had picked up snow without thinking, not minding the cold at first. But soon his hands were so cold he was screaming and crying with the numbness, until his fingertips had turned warm all the sudden, because they were so freezing. 

He shivered and turned away from the growing chilliness and went back up the stairs, clutching the banister and his thoughts went harder still. 

What to think about? The strange emotions he felt around Ella? His whirling thoughts of Potter? Was it time to go to that little cobwebbed corner in his mind? Surely not, he had just put something else there not ten minutes past. 

“What’s up, dude?” a cheery voice in an american accent asked, startling him out of his thoughts of his thoughts.

“Ugh,” Draco could hear the frown in the voice, the clear disgust, “why did I say that? That was stupid.” Draco smiled slightly.

“It’s alright Alice. Can I go in?” Draco asked, feeling sudden empathy. What the bloody fuck was happening to him?! Empathy?! Emotions?! What was he, a girl? Or worse, a _normal person?_

“Certainly,” she piped, then paused as if listening. “It seems Mr. Potter will be along shortly as well. I’ll save the question for when he arrives.”

Sudden alarm blazed through Draco, covering him in waves. “No-” he choked, “just give me it now.” 

He didn’t want to see Potter’s face all the sudden. No, please just leave.

“But-” Alice began.

“No!” Draco nearly yelled.

“Alright, alright,” Alice muttered. “What is putting a stamp with the queen’s head upside down on an envelope considered?”

Draco thought a moment. “Er, treason. An act of treason,” he finally snapped.

The green door swung inwards and he hurried through, shutting it tightly behind him before hurrying through the house and wondering what to do. 

He was about ninety-nine percent sure he was having an anxiety attack, something that he knew he should have caught much sooner. Right now he needed to rest a minute, disassociate. But of course, like always, bloody Potter had to show up and ruin his few moments of peace. 

He stalked through the rooms restlessly, taking to trailing his now shaking hand along the wall again, noting the differences of the curiously soft wood and the rough stone wall of the castle. The lean muscles of his fingers beneath the thin skin of his hand were jumping quickly, twitching in time to his rapidly quickening heartbeat.

He walked through a door made entirely of leafy plants that he had never seen before, the first of his tears prickling behind his eyes. He cursed them, even his thoughts sounding choked, for his anxiety being a point of weakness.

He wasn’t bothered to look up or even open his eyes, to see if this was actually a broom cupboard after all. But when he did, he stopped, slack-jawed. 

A floor to ceiling window was there instead of the wall, and since they were in a wing that stood out from the castle, it had a perfect view of the mountains and grassy green fields in the distance, the ribbons of sunlight that the clouds reluctantly parted for. The barest sliver of castle was to be seen on his left, but there was blissfully no Hogsmeade, quidditch pitch, students, or any life, really, that somehow Draco thought would ruin the scene.

The rest of the cupboard, however, was really quite bare. There were no fairy lights; it seemed the window provided all that was needed. The walls were, of course, wood, and a small desk stood in the corner, facing the window, with no drawers and completely empty save for a dried inkwell. A little stool was next to the desk, one that Draco had no doubt creaked like a rusty door.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his heartbeat returned, he stopped sweating, the lone tear in each eye freed itself but no more came. His hand stopped shaking as he lay against the wall, breathing breathing breathing. Motes of dust swirled lazily in the dusty sunlight, bathing his robed knees a yellowy wash. He was pleased to note that his thoughts were passing as they should, no longer a tornado but a lazy stream. He knew they would be back though.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care about Potter. But unfortunately...

A thump downstairs followed by muffled swearing struck Draco quite forcefully from his reverie. He blinked into the room, and held his breath.

Footsteps tromped up the stairs. A wailing baby followed the footsteps, probably held in Potter’s arms.

“Malfoy?” a tired voice called over the screaming.

Screwing his face up in the loss of his quiet, he walked out of the strange room he had never seen before and leaned against the wall across from their room.

He traced the knots and streaks in the wood, waiting for Potter to find him.

“Malfoy?” a voice behind him repeated.

“Wha-” he began to drawl, but stopped at the appearance of his project partner. His hair was ruffled messily, like he had drawn his hand through it several times through the day, and his robes were nowhere to be found, revealing wrinkled jeans and a gray button-up that was being clutched tightly by Ella’s small fists. His expression was tired, so tired, and Malfoy felt the first shred of real shame for leaving this man with Ella. He winced. As if he needed more reminders that he was going soft.

But there was something about this whole picture that just yanked at all sorts of thoughts and emotions. Careful, he told himself. Allowing himself to try and decipher his emotions did not work out well for him last time.

He shook himself and forced himself to be nonchalant. “What do you need from me, Potter?” he asked, “I’m a busy man and I hardly need your infantile troubles in my day.” Alright, so maybe that had been a bit harsh.

Potter’s face screwed up at his words and Draco felt something telling him to do anything he could to get that expression he had off that man’s face.

“She won’t stop crying,” he told him helplessly. “I’ve tried bottles, nappies, binkys, rocking her, trying to make her sleep, but nothing. Hermione thought you might help her.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, but was getting tired of Ella’s insistent noise. He held out his arms and took the baby from Potter, awkwardly supporting her bum and grasping her shoulder blades against one of his shoulders. She hiccupped once, and stopped crying, settling further into his chest.

“It seems she was right,” he murmured quietly. He glanced over at Potter, who looked relieved, and narrowed his eyes once more, as if daring him to say anything. 

He didn’t, but did offer a small smile that Draco didn’t return and left, presumably take a nap. 

Draco sighed and had half a mind to call him back but immediately shut that bit up. He may be cold, but even he wasn’t that heartless. Besides, he had a mountain of homework and didn’t need a crying baby to distract him. So he took his book bag over the non-occupied shoulder and decided to go back into the mysterious room he had found to work. 

When grabbing his book bag, which he had left back at the doorway, he found Potter’s next to it, and with it Ella’s makeshift cot and small diaper bag. However, upon placing her in the cot, she immediately started to squirm and even let a small cry escape. With a muttered _cripes_ on his part, she was back in his arms falling back to sleep even as he stood up. 

The room was where he had left it, duh, but he was glad of it anyway, as some part of him had thought a space that had appeared that suddenly could just disappear that quickly too.

He set himself up, cradling Ella in the crook of his elbow which he placed on the table for support and so it didn’t get tired, and spread his papers out. Dipping his quill into the ink, he pondered the first question in his charms homework, the soft rays of the setting sun casually spilling cross the open book.

_How can a castor’s spell’s results and implications be affected by emotion?_

Well that was simple. He touched the quill to his parchment, right on the edge of a stray beam filtered oddly through the window, and began writing:

_Some spells need powerful stimuli, such as emotion, to even properly cast in the first place, as such with the Unforgivable curses. But others may be affected by any raw emotion the castor is feeling, or even the expressed emotion underlying their words..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry i have to say it again. HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE EVERYONE. 
> 
> If you're at least not falling asleep while reading this, or, dare i say it? find yourself actually being somewhat ok with this story, be a mate and drop a line, will you? I like responding and you lot are the best. Also thank you for the kudos like wow.
> 
> The next chapter will probably be nigh in a month, i hope i dont completely fuck it up like i did this one
> 
> ALSO: BE ALERT. THE WORLD NEEDS MORE LERTS


	4. Walking in on something you're not supposed to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry walks in on Draco too many times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that I make my writing too emotional, but I'm trying to fix it so we'll see I guess.

Draco tried to hold on. But he couldn’t. It was just too much. So when he awoke in the middle of the night to find himself at a hard wooden desk that was digging uncomfortably into his side, and Ella dozing in his lap, he was notably worried.

What if he had suffocated Ella? Is that why she hadn’t woken up yet? She should have already woke up, for something. What if Potter killed him because he killed the baby? What if it was the next night already and he had slept through the whole thing? 

Questions and questions swept through his brain, his breathing beginning to pick up, harsh and ragged. He stood with a start, nearly upsetting his inkwell, holding Ella tightly to his chest. 

Ella had woken now, and was beginning to cry against his heaving chest as he nearly ran through the little space to the bedroom. 

Potter was just beginning to crack his eyes open, but Draco paid no mind and instead shoved the baby at him and stood on the spot, frozen, suddenly at a loss for what to do. 

He felt as though the walls were going to collapse on him at any moment, caving towards a boy who couldn’t stop them. 

A thick sob racked through his body as he fled the room, ignoring Potter’s cries of “Malfoy!” 

Back in the glass room, he sank to the floor, watching his hands shake and legs shudder. 

His heart pounded a dent into his ribcage, blood roared through his ears. He squeezed his eyes tight as his breathing began to pick up, taking huge gulps of air now, that only made him take more. 

_Stop!_ he wanted to scream. _You’re pathetic! You useless piece of shit! What if you’d done something to her? She could’ve fallen on the floor! You shouldn’t have come back. You’re not ready to be around good people again. You never will be._

But then… 

_What if Potter never likes you? Forgives you, even. What if no one does? What if it’s because they have every reason not to? What if your marks slip again? What if your father blames his sentence on you? What if..._

He sobbed again, but now it was because he was imagining all the scenarios that could go wrong, because of him, because of who he was, because of his stubborn pride that seemed to get in the way of _everything,_ and his cold, cold heart that has truly loved before, and he resents himself for it. Now worry is the only emotion that ever slams through his brain, feeding on his insecurities, and- 

-a strong, calloused hand wraps around one of his shoulders, the other around his mouth. He _should_ be fighting it, he should, but a small part of him thinks that maybe dying or whatever this person plans to do to him wouldn’t be so bad after all. He’s not even sure he cares about his own _life_ anymore. 

But, as the hand doesn’t move, and Draco is forced to hold his breath, his mind begins to clear, not darken, as his brain realizes that it has _way_ too much oxygen. The hand removes itself, gently resting on one of Draco’s drawn-up knees, and he lets his excess air out in a _whoosh._

Gradually he evens his breathing, and shoos the panic-inducing thoughts away. He suspects that this has been a long time coming, but why it couldn’t have happened in a place where he doesn’t have his own space is anyone’s guess. 

Still a little shaken up, he consoled himself with the knowledge that Ella was with Potter now, that now she was _safe._ But… when Draco finally looked up, his grey eyes reached startling green, and before he could stop himself he was blurting, “Where’s Ella?” 

Potter gave him an exasperated look. 

“You’ve just had a seizure, and you want to know where a transfigured cabbage is?” 

Draco just blinked at him. He still didn’t have his full whereabouts and had barely registered a word that Potter had said. 

“She’s on the bed. Asleep,” he added when Draco opened his mouth to speak. 

Draco nodded, feeling self conscious, and very vulnerable. When the uncomfortable silence stretched on, he slid easily back into his usual self with Potter. 

“Not a word to anyone else. Is that understood?” Draco have Potter his best glare, the one that once caused a first year to faint. He stood, placing a hand on the glass wall to steady himself, and hated the fact that his eyes probably gave him away. They both knew who had the upper hand here, and it sure as fuck wasn’t him. 

But Potter only took a breath, still kneeling on the floor, and, letting it out through his teeth, asked: “will you at least answer my questions?” 

“That depends on how knuckleheaded they are,” Draco ground out. 

He groaned, because this was the second time in not even twelve hours, and look at what had set him off. 

_I’m going to need to control this_ , he thought to his slowly stilling fingers. _Twice a day is pathetic._

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up at a much more leisurely pace, brushing invisible specks of dust off of his plaid boxers as he went. Draco had to fight his gaze to not slip down to Potter's arse. He blinked again. Where the bloody fuck had that come from? 

Moving away slowly, Harry faced his... well, he didn’t really know what to call him anymore. Surely they couldn’t be _enemies_. Not if they wanted the project to succeed, that was. Besides, after seeing something as vulnerable as this, Harry didn’t feel right to simply move on as they had been, especially not when he knew the other boy needed help at this point. Not only that, but with someone as proud as Malfoy, he began to wonder if he was his only hope. 

But god he _hated_ this. It was the middle of the night, there was a child in the next room that he just _knew_ would wake up at the arse crack of dawn, and this wasn’t even the worst of his problems, even without the boy in front of him hating him in the morning for seeing his weaknesses. 

“First, what was… that,” he gestured tiredly to Malfoy, apparently referencing the panic attack. 

Draco scowled, but was way too knackered to say anything but the truth. 

“What you just witnessed? It wasn’t supposed to happen. I have serious anxiety and PTSD, but the conditions infused with my magic, so instead of having a mental breakdown every two months or so, I get them at least twice a week. 

“I guess I’m used to them, but they’re still horrible and it isn’t supposed to happen so soon after the first.” 

“The first one?” Harry asked, surprised. “When did this happen? I don’t remember it.” 

Malfoy twisted his face up. “Just before you came through the door with Ella last night.” 

“Oh,” Harry blinked. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Why did you volunteer to take Ella if this had just happened?” Harry asked. As far as he knew, he hadn’t redeemed himself in any way in Draco’s eyes, which warranted no reason for the boy to be nice to him in any sort of way. 

“Why did you help me just now?” Draco shot back. 

“Because... I don’t know! Okay? You just looked so helpless, and I just wanted to see if I could help,” Harry exclaimed, dragging a hand through his hair. 

Draco stalked forward, and Harry’s eyes widened. Malfoy was shaking with anger, his face twisted up dreadfully; the shadows of the room seemed to cling to his expression. 

“So that’s what I am to you. A fucking charity case. I. Hate. _You,_ ” he spat at Harry. A loud wailing came from the direction of the bedroom. Without another glance, Malfoy swept out of the room with the glass walls, leaving Harry standing there, frozen. 

It wasn’t the pure anger that had radiated off of Malfoy in waves, flooding mercilessly over Harry. It wasn’t the words, the three awful words. They didn’t really bother him. Not anymore. He’d heard them come from the same mouth several times before. It wasn’t the fact that after all this time, they still had the same childish rivalry as before, although it seemed oddly one-sided now. It was when he had turned away to go after Ella, without even dropping a last loathsome glance, or even a few words. It was the fact that Harry was suddenly not worth anything, not even something hateful. 

Harry clenched his jaw and closed his eyes against the sudden closing of his throat, wondering why it hurt so much. * * * 

Draco needed a distraction. 

Last night, Potter hadn’t gone to bed. Odder still, when Ella had cried at two in the wee hours of the morning, Potter had come over and immediately lulled her back to sleep, placing her next to Draco without a moment’s hesitation, before the latter had even opened his eyes. 

But then he had gone back out of the room, and Draco didn’t see him until breakfast. 

He was acting normally, he supposed, laughing per usual with the Weasel and Granger, while simultaneously cramming as many kippers into his mouth as he possibly could. 

The only class they had together that day was Herbology, and Draco found himself dreading it. He told himself this was foolish because he felt he didn’t deserve to feel that away. He had been the one to tell Potter he hated him, but how could he explain that he didn’t, not really? How could he tell him that it was just a moment of insanity, that he felt different. But his stupid pride had gotten in the way of his true emotions, as always. 

And something about Potter always made him riled up, like he might go crazy any second. But when he got to Herbology later that day, he had prepared himself for Potter being hostile, or at least complete ignorance. 

But Potter did neither of these things. Instead, he approached him before class, wordlessly held out a hand for Ella’s carrier, and walked away back to his waiting friends without so much as a backwards glance. 

And Draco watched him go, feeling a curious burn where his heart was supposed to be. 

* * * 

Draco enters the room later to the strange sight of Harry sitting on the sofa, reading softy to Ella. 

His expression must have been sour, as when Harry finally does notice him, his eyes go slightly defensive and guarded as he says, “We, er, need to read. To Ella, I mean.” 

Draco finds it somewhere in him to give him an unimpressed glare before he heads to the glass room. He doesn’t have a lot left. 

* * * 

Two weeks go by, and they only interact the barest minimum with each other. 

Days are spent with either one of them taking her for the morning, then switching in the evening. 

One Sunday evening, when Draco is left alone with Ella in the whole dorm, he remembers the whole reading-to thing. Up until now, he had been doing his homework with her, and simply reading her paragraphs from his books. But the slip of paper had said that singing was just as well. 

Potter was off at some Gryffindor cult gathering, so Draco figured he had time. And anyway, the song he had in mind was just an old lullaby. 

He hadn’t sung in a long time, and he didn’t like to sing in front of other people. But even so, memories of the grand piano on the second floor, in front of the great fire that nearly always burned, filled his head; His mother patiently playing the ivory keys over and over, chiding him softly when he missed a word, or his pitch wavered. 

He knew he would likely be terrible, with no warm-up and his lack of singing, but still… 

Taking a deep breath, he sang quietly to Ella, after gently placing her into her homemade cot. 

_“The dragons den up in the sky,_

_Higher than a bird could fly,_

_Hold softly beating dragon hearts,_

_Expensive in a merchant’s cart,_

_Dreaming of new days beneath the moon,_

_Wishing the day would come soon,_

_Sunlight comes with the light,_

_Showing the dragons a future bright.”_

He stopped, embarrassed, but relieved to see that Ella had fallen asleep. Clearing his throat, he put Ella in the bedroom, and went out into the hall, still humming softly. 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” A voice came from behind him. He spins around with wide eyes, eyes that land on… Potter. Of bloody course. 

He opens his mouth to say something scathing, something to make this other boy hurt for making Draco feel vulnerable, but what instead falls from in between his lips is, “My mother used to teach me.” 

Potter comes into the light more clearly now, the flickers of the fairies in the lanterns ghosting over his face. There’s an odd expression there, and Draco can’t place anything about it. 

“It was beautiful,” he whispers. Draco’s heart throbs suddenly, and he wants so desperately to hurt the other boy now but he can’t, _he can’t._

So he runs. 

* * * 

As he sags against the wall of some corridor, he hates himself, and every single fucking emotion he’s ever had, because he’s really done it now, he’s finally falling apart and he can’t believe it was over _that._

His heart has stilled a bit now, but whether it was from running flat out across the school, not caring where his feet led him, or from the boy who told him his singing was beautiful, he didn’t honestly know. 

He sinks down the wall, grabbing his knees to his chest, and lays his head down on them. And thinks about the boy, the one who can’t for _one minute_ , get out of his head. 

The boy with the scruffy black hair that never seems to lie flat, yet still looks so _unbearably_ soft, that is slowly breaking down any emotional barriers he had towards him. 

The boy with the low voice that _did things_ to Draco, whenever he read to Ella, or even said anything at all. 

The boy with the rumpled and wrinkled clothes and hero mentality, was the most infuriating person he had ever met. 

This boy, _this fucking Gryffindor_ , will be the end of him if he’s not careful. 

That’s it. 

This is what Draco has been reduced too. He isn’t stupid. He knew sometime or another his cold front against the other boy would melt, and he would be left facing his true feelings. But he had expected to find that he was just like most other people. A little bit of admiration, a little bit of respect, and a little bit of the need for approval. 

But… even he couldn’t lie to himself about this. An ugly monster in his gut was rearing its head, reminding him of Toby, of James, of Theodore. Visions of Toby’s soft pink lips, coming nearer to Draco’s own, as they ‘practiced for kissing girls’. James’ flushed cheeks, as the cold winter snow bit the tender skin there while he held hands with Draco, catching snowflakes on his tongue. Theo’s ruby lips, swollen and wet, as they wrapped around Draco’s- 

Draco groaned. This wasn’t good. Being gay was one thing. Being gay for Potter was another thing entirely. But surely, being only in the first stages of attraction, he could deny it. He would find a distraction, and forget about it. Things would go back to normal around Potter, and they would move on after this hellish month was over. 

Staggering to his feet, he thought about when would be the best time to meet with Theodore Nott, to talk about an… arrangement. 

* * * 

Harry stood in the small hallway outside of the glass room, watching, transfixed, as Draco softly sang to Ella. His voice was smooth water over its usual gruffness, and though his back was to Harry, he could see the posture, how relaxed and loose it was. 

Harry had come back early from seeing Ron and Hermione, and this was… not what he was expecting. There was something undeniably… ethereal about him. He vaguely noticed the moonlight illuminating his figure gently, all slender limbs and long, elegant arms. But mostly, it was the voice. It was powerful, steady, rough in places but still undeniably trained. It both filled the room with its strength and was soft and gentle at the same time. 

Harry said something, not being able to help himself, and Draco turned around, struggling with his facial expression. He finally choked something out, and Harry said something honestly. Too honestly. 

And Malfoy ran, a pale blur streaking away from Harry’s mistake. 

* * * 

“Yeah, sure,” Nott said, looking up at Draco through his eyelashes. “You sure Potter won’t care?” 

“I don’t give a fuck what he thinks,” Draco hissed. 

“Alright, alright. I’m just saying that if we do get caught, I’m not going to go to the trouble to be embarrassed. I’m going to finish, because that’s what this is, you hear me?” Theo crooked an eyebrow at Draco. 

Draco nodded. “Tonight. Eight. My dorm.” 

He turned and walked away. 

“Take Ella, don’t be back until ten,” Draco cut out, unable to look Potter in the eye for some reason. 

“Why?” The other boy suspiciously asked. 

“Study group.” 

“Liar. Tell me or I won’t leave.” 

“A friend’s coming over,” Draco muttered to Potter’s jaw. He still couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“But why? For what?” Potter asked. Damn him and his stupid stubborn streak. 

Draco tried to mumble something and turn away, but Potter grabbed his elbow and swung him around, saying something. 

Blood began roaring in Draco’s ears. How dare he touch him. Didn’t he see that Draco was trying to keep something to himself for once? But he was done. So done. 

Getting up in Potter’s face, he nearly screamed in frustration. 

“For _father_. Alright? He’s almost dead, and I need to see him before he does,” he let his voice break appropriately at the end. But this was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. 

His father was in Azkaban, and he was fine with that. Theo was coming, and they were going to fuck. But did Potter need to know that? No. 

The lie worked. Potter left with Ella, and Theo was there slightly after. 

* * * 

This was supposed to feel brilliant. 

And it did, it did, it just wasn’t what Draco needed. At all. As the end date to the month came closer, Nott went over daily. Maybe a little much, but Draco just wasn’t feeling it. 

Everytime Nott would pin him to the bed, or vice versa, he would feel the delicious friction of hot skin against hot skin, but wouldn’t feel like he was satisfied, not even when he finished. All he could think of was dark hair and tan skin and emerald eyes, but the thoughts were fleeting, like wild horses racing across a desert; impossible to catch, contain, or tame properly. 

He felt guilty all the time, felt the guilt as if he was cheating. Which was stupid, because he wasn’t even dating _Nott_ , much less somone else. All in all, this was doing almost the exact opposite of what Draco wanted it to do. It made him feel guilty instead of relaxed, made him more distracted by thoughts of Him instead of focusing solely on Theodore, and far from his silly little crush dispersing, it seemed to become even stronger. 

But at least he didn’t have _no_ sex, like the first few weeks of the horrible project. Now he had an outlet, and it was better than his own hand. Still, Draco usually found himself feeling worse than before every time Nott left. 

He kept one small comfort: _ten days until this is over._

* * * 

Harry was beginning to get suspicious of what Draco was doing every night. He figured he’d drop by the room one night to see if that’s what was really happening. He would just ask Alice if Lucious was inside the room, and if he was, he would just leave again. But then… he would remember Malfoy telling him that he hated him, and would decide not to meddle. One day he just couldn't help himself. Even if it was true, why would Lucious be suddenly coming every night, when Harry hadn't heard a peep about him before? 

The next night, leaving Ella with Hermione, he took to the corridors of Hogwarts at a brisk pace, soon finding himself at the entrance to their dorm. 

“Hello,” Alice politely said. “Would you like access to the room?” 

“Er, yes. Yes please,” Harry said. Alice took pity on him. 

“Okay then, what’s the last letter of the alphabet?” 

“Zed. I think,” Harry answered. He mentally smacked himself for the uncertainty. Of course the last letter of the alphabet was z. 

But Alice didn’t seem so sure. “Zed?” she asked, sounding confused. 

But then she corrected herself: “Ah, language barrier. You’re free to go through.” 

Harry thanked her and asked her whether Lucious was inside or not, to which she said no, and grasped the golden snitch doorknob, the ivy tickling his hands. He let himself in and gently tapped a lantern hanging above his head full of sleeping fairies, so he could see with some light, before humming softly to himself and making his way into the kitchen. 

He was quietly eating a crumbly biscuit when he heard it. A low moan. Standing up from his leaning position against the counter, he creased his brow and stuffed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. Peering out of the kitchen, he wondered where it could be coming from. 

Ella wasn’t with him, and as far as he knew, Draco was the only one home… He shrugged and dismissed the sound as a figure of his imagination. 

But there it was again, the moan. Several now, actually, as if they were being made in quick succession. A new thought struck Harry and he blushed furiously. Now having a pretty good idea of the source of the noise, he went to go close the slightly ajar door of the bedroom across the narrow hall. After all, he really didn’t want to hear this. 

But, upon closing the door softly (he doubted Draco would notice, as he recalled how into it Harry could become himself), he realized the noise hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had gotten louder. 

But if he was doing _that_ , then why wasn’t he in the bedroom? A new thought slammed into him again. What if Draco was hurt? Or having one of his panic attacks? What if the moan wasn’t sexual at all, and actually one of pain? 

Harry drew his wand out of his back pocket and ignored the voice filling his head that sounded suspiciously like Mad Eye yelling at him that he was going to lose a buttock or two. 

He clenched the familiar holly in his hand, and moved quickly through the house, walking the few steps to reach the end of the hall and the entrance to the small living space. 

He saw a blonde head over the couch cushions, and quickly moved around to see the whole scene. 

His hand dropped to his side, his wand held limply by a few fingers. 

“Draco?” he rasped. 

The other boy’s head was thrown back in ecstasy, not pain, one ridiculously long-fingered hand clenching the pale fabric of the sofa, and the other threading through the hair of some other boy, who was clearly going down on him. 

Harry swallowed and blinked, but didn’t look away. His face heated up in a fiery blush, and he felt curious emotions stirring up in his stomach, but could feel two things more than any other. The familiar curl of arousal creeped downwards, as spitting anger rose to the surface. 

_“What do you think you’re doing?_ ” he choked out. 

* * * 

Draco looked up at the loud voice. 

He was very out of it, and couldn’t suppress a moan when Nott did something with his tongue, even as he lazily stretched himself out on the cushion to give him time before he had to deal with whatever wanted his attention now. 

He looked up… and immediately pulled Nott off his nether regions by the hair quite forcefully. 

Nott just slapped his hand away and continued his work, even as Draco tried valiantly with sex-sluggish hands to pry him off. 

“Potter.” 

He tried to say it in a nonchalant voice, hopefully not betraying any of his mortification, but it came out as more of a moan. 

“You told me your father was here,” the other boy said, with the slightest tremor in his voice, eyes turning cold and hard. “Not… whatever this is.” 

Clearly uncomfortable, he turned away from Draco. 

Theodore just kept going. 

“Enough,” Draco moaned, “You can stop, Nott.” 

Theo looked up at him. “I told you my conditions, Draco. Just finish, and I’ll leave.” 

Draco groaned, knowing he couldn’t persuade him. But Potter was _right there_ , with his stupid scruffy hair and god-awful glasses, and oh god, the blush that ran down his neck and disappeared into his shirt was just _sinful_ \- 

Draco moaned without meaning too, and he knew he should stop thinking about this, but he couldn’t, _he couldn’t_ , and then Potter was leaving, swinging his arse just a little bit as he walked, but _no_ he couldn’t go now. But there was nothing he could do and he definitely wasn’t going to call after him, how pathetic was _that_ , but then quite without his permission, Nott swept his tongue quickly over the place it counted, and he cried out the other boy’s name again, seeking a agonizing release. 

Potter turned around, and looked straight into his eyes. Hard and calculating green met his desperate silver, and Draco couldn't help himself; he arched into Nott’s mouth, never leaving the other boy’s gaze, as he went off like a fucking rocket, sobbing his release. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking two more chapters??
> 
> Also: go follow bisexual_triangles on Instagram!!
> 
> Also: I have a tumblr now. Please send along any fanart or go look at my stupid memes!
> 
> Hope you have a great day and also comments and kudos are my shining lights so drop one if you feel like it!

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed- i'm always open to new suggestions! Next post will be probably next month, but i wouldn't hold your breath. I'm estimating about four or so chapters, but we'll see. Also, the POV's switch from Harry to Draco randomly so don't be alarmed.  
> I know that hat chooses dumb pairs; it was originally supposed to be people who hate each other buuuuuuuuuut my fingers typed before my brain soooo
> 
> Oh and also please please comment I love to hear feedback or if you have something random you wanted to ask or share do so also por favor


End file.
